


With You, My World Has Started

by cloveremoji



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 4k of fluff, Fluff, Les Mis - Freeform, M/M, Theatre AU, harry is enjolras, theres slight sophia/eleanor but its v tiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloveremoji/pseuds/cloveremoji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a baker. I get off at five.” It seems to hit Harry slowly, and he starts to smile. “Did I get the part? Is it that easy?”</p>
<p>“Just be here on Monday. Rehearsals are seven to nine, every evening. We open in six weeks.” Louis puts his pen down and stands up, cracking his back, not mentioning that it’s only easy to get in when you sing like an angel and look like one, too. “Good meeting you, Harry. I cannot wait for the theatre to completely suck you in.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You, My World Has Started

**Author's Note:**

  * For [walkthemoonto5sos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthemoonto5sos/gifts).



> Based on the prompt: Theatre director Louis falls for the newby actor Harry during his spring musical production. 
> 
> I've never been in a musical before, but my sources tell me it's quite a lot harder than I make it seem. Oops.
> 
> Title from One Day More from Les Mis.

From the moment Louis was told he would be able to be the director of the spring musical, he’s known he was going to do Les Mis.

He’s worked at the local theatre for ages now—he’s done all sorts of shows, worked his way through all sorts of tech positions, then directed smaller shows, and recently put on an incredible production of The Crucible, and he’s finally, _finally_ been trusted enough to direct his own musical.

The theatre owner, Nick Grimshaw, a grumpy man in his thirties, suggested he put on something with a small cast, something easy for his first musical. Maybe Rocky Horror, Avenue Q, maybe Grease simply because he’s been in it so many times.

He ignores him.

Les Mis is _made_ for him, is the thing. Not made for him to be in, but made for him to put on. It had love and life, revolution, humor and sadness, romantic serenades, power ballads, hearts full of love, blood of angry men. It’s arguably one of the best musicals of all time. It has everything Louis wants to bring to the world.

He has it basically cast, too. Niall would be the best Marius, he has the voice and the emotion and the face of a Disney prince. Zayn has enough power to hit all of Jean Valjean’s notes and fill the theatre, and Bring Him Home will bring everyone to tears. Liam is a clear Javert, and Sophia and Perrie and Eleanor will take on Cosette, Eponine and Fantine easily enough. The other characters will fill in easily with the actors he isn’t too familiar with, but familiar enough to trust them with his first show.

The only problem is he has no Enjolras. He has no revolution leader. He has the love and the family, but no spirit of the fight, no rage against society, no hearing the people sing.

He does something he swore he would never do to his beautiful, precious, play. He holds open auditions.

The first couple singers are—well, to be honest, complete and utter shit. They ‘re clearly trained, but there’s no power. They may as well be singing in a school’s choir. They don’t seem to understand the complexities of the character.

The next one does an interpretive dance and quite possibly was only there on a dare.

And then _he_ walks in, looking like he missed a turn as he went to football practice. He can’t be older than 19, and he’s wearing a Greenbay Packers jersey. It’s despicable. He doesn’t slate, and Louis is about to tear out his hair when he starts singing without waiting for a cue, as though he’s never been to a single audition before.

Except he sings like an angel. Except when he opens his mouth, he sings like he actually understands what he’s saying. He’s a mess and now, looking down at his resume, Louis sees that this is, in fact, his first audition. It’s his first theatre _anything._ He hasn’t even been trained vocally.

And normally Louis would refuse to work with that, because it may be the smallest community theatre in the country but he still has standards, but if _this_ is him untrained, he’s willing to make sacrifices.

“Stop,” Louis cuts in. “Harry Styles, this is your resume, I assume?”

He—Harry—nods.

“You have no experience at all?” Louis raises his eyebrow when Harry nods in agreement. “Choir? No? What, do you do voice lessons?”

“I was on the footie team in school,” Harry drawls in the most undramatic voice this theatre has ever heard. They’ll have to work on that.

“Right. Of course you were.” Louis huffs and rolls his eyes. “And what do you now, Harry? Too old to be in school, I think. The rehearsals are every night, so if you work nights, this won’t work.”

“I’m a baker. I get off at five.” It seems to hit Harry slowly, and he starts to smile. “Did I get the part? Is it that easy?”

“Just be here on Monday. Rehearsals are seven to nine, every evening. We open in six weeks.” Louis puts his pen down and stands up, cracking his back, not mentioning that it’s only easy to get in when you sing like an angel and look like one, too. “Good meeting you, Harry. I cannot wait for the theatre to completely suck you in.”

 

The first couple rehearsals are chaotic.

He spends Monday and Tuesday with just the leads, making sure they can follow it roughly. They’ve been practicing on their own, so it isn’t nearly as rough as he would imagine. They aren’t perfect, but they can get through a scene without it looking like they’ve never seen the show before. Harry gets on well with the boys, and even more so with the girls. Perrie thinks he’s hilarious, and Eleanor and Sophia might be trying to adopt him. Zayn is the only one slightly unsure, and it might be because he notices the hearts in Louis’ eyes when he sings. To his credit, who wouldn’t get a bit heart-eyed when they heard his voice?

On Wednesday, the full cast meets for the first time.

It’s insane, he knows it is. They’re going way too fast, he should set up the leads more, he should know what he’s getting into. But he wants to jump in, and he’s tired of setting things up, so it’s time for him to just dive in headfirst. (If he listens carefully, he can hear Nick yelling at him to stop thinking himself as the world’s gift to directing and to just do Grease. Whatever.)

Zayn, Liam, and Niall arrive early and help him set up the Green Room. There’s an endless amount of highlighters on the table, and a terrifying pile of scripts. There are more chairs around the table than they have in the audience, or at least that’s how it feels. The immenseness of what he has decided to do is finally hitting Louis.

He’s not panicking at all. Not even a little.

As the others arrive, Zayn hands them a script and Liam gives out a highlighter, and Niall directs the cast to their labeled spots at the table. He’s glad to have friends like them.

The girl leads arrive, and then the chorus, and then a couple techs straggle in, and he sees his stage manager stumble in to a corner. Everyone is talking, and coffee is being passed around, along with meals they picked up for each other. Stories are flying around, and it’s like everyone hasn’t seen each other in ages. Taylor and Liam are having a long argument about Javert’s past while Zayn puts in his two cents about the actual book every so often, Eleanor and Sophia can’t stop giggling at each other, and Niall is standing on his chair, falling over himself laughing at Greg’s joke, and then promptly falling onto the table. A couple people shout and grab their food, but mostly everyone laughs it off.

Somewhere along the line, Harry slides into the seat next to him.

“Is it always like this?” He seems doubtful, and maybe a bit scared. Louis feels oddly proud of that. “It kind of reminds me of a locker room.”

“Hey! We’re much more civilized than that rabble.” Louis sticks out his tongue and then stands up, shouting, “Oi! Everyone! We’re going to start now, okay? Let’s do this.”

The rest of the read-through goes well. They listen to him surprisingly well, and Harry has actual inflection in his voice when told to, and Louis is suddenly very, very excited. This is happening, and it may actually work.

The singing is rough, obviously. Louis is not about to add an orchestra to his first musical, so they’re working off instrumental tracks. He doesn’t give critiques, not yet, but lets everyone work their way through it.

Zayn stumbles a bit with the beginning, and he seems visibly upset when he has trouble finding the pitch for Valjean’s Soliloquy. Niall looks so in love with Sophia when he sings A Heart Full of Love that Louis is afraid that Eleanor might actually slap him, but that’s why he’s good at why he does. He always wants to play the character parts, but he’s too much of a prince character to get that role. Liam is all official with his brow furrowed, demanding Zayn to give himself up. Perrie and Eleanor both do their best to make everyone a bit weepy, and they succeed with Louis more than he would care to admit.

Harry steals the rehearsal by far.

His voice is strong, and when he declares that it’s time to go to war, he thinks he hears Perrie gasp. His voice is the power behind hearing the people sing. Louis thinks he’s in love with his voice.

After rehearsal, the chorus clears out quickly, and the techs all slowly make their way out of the room, the rest of the rabble leaving soon behind. Soon, it’s just him and the gang, plus Harry.

“Out to drinks, then?” Zayn asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Always,” Louis confirms, and fist bumps Niall.

“Lads, the gals and I will drive tonight. We’re cutting out alcohol so we can have proper fit figures for the show,” Perrie says, and holds up her car keys.

Harry looks concerned by this. “Are you going to starve yourself? Louis, did you tell them to do that? That’s really shit, they can drink if they want to.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Oh, Harry. If I wanted them to look starving, I would just tell them to act. They just want to look good in the dresses and in the press photos. I promise you, the dieting is all them.”

“We do it every show,” Eleanor puts in. “And then we pig out after opening night.”

“It’s awful,” Sophia agrees. “But we have a bunch of lovely photos of ourselves, so it works itself out. Plus, the dieting is really just us eating yogurt and drinking smoothies and feeling like health queens.”

At this, Harry looks interested. “Have you done yoga before? You should do yoga. I could help you with that.”

Niall makes a frustrated coughing sound. “Can we go, please?”

“Of course, lads,” Louis says. “As your director, I order everyone to get into of the ladies’ car. Soph, El, I will go with you.”

Zayn, Niall, and Liam follow Perrie down to her bug and Zayn sits in the front seat, Liam and Niall cramming themselves into the back, while Sophia and El and Louis and Harry get into their frustratingly domestic minivan.

At the bar, after everyone has slid into the booth, Louis makes his best director decision yet and buys everyone a round.

“Listen,” he says in a commanding voice. “No one is to get drunk. I refuse to have hung-over actors in my rehearsals. Save that all for the weekends.”

The boys groan, but they perk up decidedly when he passes out beers and slides in next to Perrie at the end of the booth. Harry grins at him from across the table.

“So Harry,” Liam says. “How are you managing so far?”

“Um,” Harry starts. “I think I like it, a bit? It’s fun. Yeah. So. I like singing. I don’t know how good I’ll be at memorizing, though. But it’s fun with everyone in there. It’s good. It’s fun.”

“Eloquently put,” Louis quips, smiling. “Let us all be glad that there is a script.”

Everyone laughs, and Harry smiles, ducking his head a bit.

“Sorry.” He peeks out from behind his arm. “I do tend to ramble a bit, don’t I?”

“Just a tad,” Louis teases, right as Niall tells him not to let it bother him.

“He’s a bit rude to everyone,” Eleanor explains. “It’s why we broke up.”

“You dated?” Harry looks a bit confused, and El and Louis laugh.

“Only until we both realized how terribly gay we are,” Louis laughs. “Which is the real reason we broke up, don’t listen to that dickhead.”

The night goes well, all in all.

They adhere to Louis’ rule and only get slightly tipsy, and it’s carefree. They make jokes and everyone laughs, and sometimes Louis can feel Harry’s foot nudging his underneath the table, and while he’s sure it’s completely accidental, it’s nice.

A lot of things about Harry are nice.

 

It’s opening night, and Harry is nowhere to be found. Of course he is. Everyone else is backstage in a circle, ready for Louis’ big pump-up speech, and Harry hasn’t been seen since he got his costume on and makeup done half an hour ago.

They still have thirty minutes until show, but that isn’t nearly as long as it sounds, not when everyone has to get into places and the techs have to start doing back-up checks and the actors have to have time to review their lines in their heads and be their usual drama queen selves.

Liam and Zayn approach Louis, who is currently standing in the dressing room alone, looking frazzled.

“Hey, one of the techs found Harry crying in the audience bathroom,” Liam says gently, and Louis hearts breaks a little before he remembers how fucking mad he is at Harry.

“He’s ruining his fucking makeup,” Louis snarls, but there isn’t nearly as much bite behind it as he would have liked.

“Yes. Um, I’m sure he’s sorry about that,” Zayn says, and looks at Liam with a questioning look. “But we were thinking maybe you could go comfort him? And I know your speech is like, a big deal, but you did your main one last night at the dress rehearsal, right?”

Louis nods and frowns, understanding what Zayn is getting out. “Valjean, bring them home,” he says solemnly. “Tell them I love them all and am very proud, and also that if they don’t impress the reviewer I will kick the God-fearing crap out of them.”

“Yes sir.”

“Meanwhile, I will rescue our poor, small Harold who, I imagine, is having the worst bout of stage fright any of us natural theatre folk have ever encountered. That, or he’s just terribly emotional, in which case I will tease him to no end. Either way, you all get to it.”

“Yes sir!” And with that, Liam and Zayn march off to the troops, to rally them and then to send them to their respective quadrants.

The truth is, he’s directed them too well. His stage manager is too good at her job. His assistants predict his every thought too well. He has plenty to stress over and plenty that he needs to oversee, but he also has so much faith in them all. So much. And if something were to happen to him, he is suddenly sure that they would be able to carry on.

And that’s—strangely a nice feeling to have, that he’s trained them all so well that they can handle any crisis, change any scene, make sure the show goes on no matter what the circumstance.

Except, of course, Harry.

So he straightens up and tells himself to grow up, this is the theatre, there’s no time for stress, and he heads off to the audience bathrooms. There’s a small crowd of people around them, trying to piss before the show, and he mentally chastises Harry for choosing such a public location to have a melt down.

“Harry?” Louis calls once he reaches the line of stalls.

A flump of whining and sniffling comes from one of the farther stalls, and Louis walks his way down.

“Where are you, Haz?”

A hand pokes out from under one of the stalls, and Louis approaches.

“May I enter?”

The door swings open slowly, and Harry frowns at him. He’s clearly upset, but he isn’t so much crying as sniffling and looking quite a bit pathetic, not that Louis would call him that to his face. Louis spares a glance around at the other people washing their hands before decisively shutting the door behind him and sliding the latch into place. Harry sits down on the closed toilet seat and covers his face with his hands, and Louis tries not to cringe when he sees that his hair is all over the place, out of the tight bun that they had decided fit Enjolras’ character.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Another whine and sniffle. “Are you nervous?

Harry peeks out from behind his hands and nods only slightly, and Louis surges forward and pulls his hands to his side.

“No more hiding. Talk to me, Haz.”

Harry looks up at him with big cow eyes and Louis feels a something inside of him twist around, and he doesn’t know exactly what makes him think it ‘s a good idea, in fact, a great idea, the only suitable solution, but he grabs Harry’s face and leans down and pushes their lips together.

It’s short. Harry moves his lips against Louis’ slightly, and Louis pulls away and pecks his lips once more before straightening up and pulling Harry up with him.

“Stage fright gets to all of us.”

“Louis?” Harry asks, his face looking thoroughly confused, and Louis decides they can sort this all out later, because there is twenty minutes until the show starts and they have absolutely no time for this.

“It’s time to perform,” Louis says gravely. “And you’re going to do great, and I know it, because you’ve owned this stage from the moment that I met you at your audition. You’ve got some of the best stage presence I’ve ever seen, and Zayn and Liam have told me they want you to become a regular here, and I want that, too, but first you’ve got to show that audience exactly how great you are. Got it?”

Harry nods, and then says, “But, um, what about the…”

“Yes. That. First we have a show, Harold, and then we can address that. After all, I’m sure you’ve heard that the show must go on.”

Harry actually smiles at that, and Louis feels accomplished, and when they run into the dressing room together, Zayn claps and helps Harry touch up his face and hair, and then everything is falling into place and everyone is getting ready and suddenly Louis is being pushed out in front of the curtains and being told to open the show and he’s never felt prouder.

And if he rambles a bit about how much he’s waited for this moment, no one in the audience seems to mind. He tells them all how much he loves his cast, and he feels nervous but he’s full of love for everyone that has gone on this crazy journey with him and everyone that believed that he could pull off one of the hardest things to ever pull off, and he tells the audience that, too.

His dedication to the cast is a bit long, and he knows his friends don’t expect quite the glowing review he gives them, and he also knows that half of them can’t even hear him from their starting, position, but he’s too happy to let it get to him.

When he finally finishes his much longer than rehearsed speech, the audience applauds and as he leaves the stage, he sees the critic in the back smiling, and that’s as good a start as any.

 

The cast party is in full swing, and Louis feels like a thousand shining lights. After the show, the critic came up to him and told him his debut as a musical director had been long awaited, and that he lived up to everything she had hoped. He got a bit teary.

Then his mother and his sisters had emerged holding mountains of flowers, even though Louis told them to come the second night so they wouldn’t see the first-night nerves. His sisters hug him for ages and his mother takes a picture of him holding all their bouquets, and then he got quite a lot teary.

And the raving about Harry.

Nearly everyone who saw him went on and on about how well Harry was casted, and Niall, Liam, Zayn and them, too, obviously, but no one received a more glowing review than Harry.

“Your program has a misprint,” a small old lady had told him, and he had groaned in response.

“Don’t tell me that,” he sighed. “Where?”

“It says that it’s Harry Styles’ first show,” she explained. “But I was once in the theatre, and I know you don’t get those roles on your first show, and I know you don’t sing that well on your first show, either.”

He laughed and winked at her. “Before I met Harry, I would have said the same thing.”

It’s a bit embarrassing, actually, how much Louis joins in on going on about him.

Backstage, where the techs were clearing things to get ready for the next night and where the actors were hanging up their costumes and taking off their make-up, everyone cheered for Louis as he passed by. The ten-year-old they had playing Gavroche jumped onto his back and hung on tight, and Louis was grinning like a fool, and then the entire chorus tackled him, and then the leads and the techs, and then it seemed like his entire sprawling cast and crew had somehow found a way to the room and crammed themselves in and he had possibly never felt so happy, so full of love, so accomplished in his life.

And now he hasn’t touched a single drink yet, but he feels high and giddy and drunk on the world and the way the lights shine on you when you stand on the stage. Everyone is mingling around Zayn’s cramped little flat. He’s floating through the room on a big balloon of emotion, when he feels a pair of warm hands grab his side and he spins around to be face-to-face with none other than tonight’s big star, Harry.

“You said we could talk about that thing after the show,” he says, and he looks a bit shy.

“I did,” Louis grins back. “Do you want to do that now?”

Harry nods at him with his big frog eyes.

“Come on then,” Louis says. “Follow me.”

He leads Harry down a hall, passing legions of cast members who raise their glasses of champagne to him, past a group of the younger ones playing what seems to be a simplified, drunker version of 7 Minutes of Heaven.

“You really shouldn’t be letting those younger ones drink,” Harry notes quietly. “I’m pretty sure they’re not of age.”

“Harold,” Louis says solemnly. “Shush. It’s opening night. Let them be happy.”

They arrive outside Zayn’s bedroom, and he pushes open the door, pleased to find that no one has taken to hooking up in there. He pulls Harry to the bed and sits down, forcing him to sit behind him.

“So,” he drawls out. “Talking. Yes. What exactly is your question?”

“Um.” Harry blinks at him. “Well. In the bathroom. You did, um. You kissed me a little bit.”

Louis smiles at him, and he knows he must look stupidly fond. “Yes. I did. I remember.”

“Um, right. I mean, I thought you might. But, like…” Harry squints at him. “Why exactly did you do that? Because I was nervous? Or because you might maybe like me?” He rushes out the last part, and he looks a bit in pain, and Louis is so incredibly warmhearted for this boy.

“The second one,” Louis confirms. “The liking one. Although, a bit the nervous one, too. It did seem to shut you up. And you had a great performance, and it was either due to my great directing or my great kiss. Either way, it’s all because of me.” He pauses. “I am kidding, Harold, don’t look so stricken.”

“It’s not because of that!” Harry grins. “It’s just… You like me?” He grins a bit. “I like you, too.”

“And here we are, alone in a bedroom, both liking one another.” Louis quirks up an eyebrow at him. “I wonder what we should do?”

“We should…” Harry leans in, his nose bumping Louis’. “Do this?” And then he kisses Louis, and Louis kisses him back, and in the background the rest of the flat everyone is singing show tunes, and Louis has never felt so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
